


Don't worry, I'm from Scotland.

by Kru



Series: it's called beginning, not the end [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bond is cooking, Crack, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Q is trying to comprehend, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, and, and other stuff that i cannot resist, oh and, so basically you see there is a lot of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:18:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kru/pseuds/Kru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q just simply cannot believe how they got to this point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't worry, I'm from Scotland.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to an amazing girl who not only put up with my mistakes and made this readable but also she did the beta read super fast so I could post this before my holidays! BIIIIIG thank you Phi :***

 

Bond moved in Q’s kitchen with the same grace and ease as he had while killing people. Somehow, he didn’t even have difficulty finding things he needed when Q didn’t have the slightest idea he even owned them. Like the pan for grilling or some strongly aromatic spices. But none of the mattered, it only meant that James Bond, the secret and the best agent of Her Majesty, was still in his flat. He didn’t run, he was just preparing breakfast.

Strips of perfectly sliced bacon were sizzling in the pan with tomatoes. Q could smell baked beans, remembering that he bought a can really long time ago, when he didn’t used to work as a Quartermaster, and he had the time to cook a proper meal. Eggs were waiting on the side and judging by the number, Q could tell that Bond had to be really hungry.

Q stood in the doorway of his kitchen, thinking in the most naïve way that he was unnoticed. He wanted to observe the man as he always did at work. He used to do this secretly on every meeting, every briefing, and every time Bond appeared at Q-Branch to say he lost or destroyed their equipment. And of course, Q would be angry with him. He would be livid, but at the same time, he tried not to show it. At some point, everyone around James felt lost in his charisma and Q didn’t want to be that next position on Bond’s list of conquests.

Q promised himself that, under any circumstances, he would not succumb to this man’s charm. And what happened? After knowing Bond for one year, three months and nine days, he completely failed.

But maybe he didn’t.

Dressed only in suit trousers that lay low on his hips, James looked quite surreal (or quite at home) in the warm glow of the morning sun, standing barefoot with still wet and disheveled hair. Q could watch James from a closer distance now. He could follow the lines of Bond’s muscular back, the pattern of scars and fading bruises and he didn’t have to wonder what was under the suits, James’ armour, anymore. Now he knew. Because James was the braver one of either of them. He came here yesterday, and forced him and made him beg for more. Because Q would never admit this too himself without a help.

And Q was screwed. But really, he didn’t care. Not when Bond turned to look over his shoulder at Q with that soft smile reserved only for him. Casually balancing the spatula against the pan, he said with a pleasant hum, “Will you be staring at me the whole morning, or are you going to join me?”

“I’d never guess that you could cook,” Q responded with hesitation as he slowly entered the kitchen, drying his hair with a towel.

“That,” James said, gesturing vaguely with the spatula, “and many other things.”

Q raised his eyebrow with interest, and stood just behind the man. “How would I know?”

“Exactly, you wouldn’t,” Bond answered. He shut off the heat and turned to face Q. “Not after only one night of that marvelous shagging,” he began as he tugged open half of Q’s bathrobe, “You need much more to know me better.”

“Oh, okay…” Q whispered, nodding politely, “More than knowing your blood type, shoe size, and the reason behind each and every one of your scars?”

“Much more,” Bond replied softly with his lips as close to Q’s without actually kissing. “Because,” he continued, “all of that is 007, not James.” He finally kissed him softly and gently as he whispered, “And I want to know you, not just the Quartermaster.”

“And what,” Q managed to say, licking lazily into the warmth of Bond’s mouth, “what if,” he continued between languid kisses, “If you don’t like who I am aside from your Quartermaster?”

“Let’s find out,” James smiled into Q’s lips. “Let’s start with something simple. What’s your name?”

Q pulled back sharply, tensing suddenly. His eyes narrowed, watching Bond’s face with unusual suspicion.  “My… What?”

Bond shrugged and leaned forward again to catch Q’s lips in his own before he whispered, “Your name. I’d like to know it.”

“My real name?” Q asked, smiling nervously as he pulled back and leaned on the table beside him to put distance between them. “The one my parents gave me when I was born?”

Bond nodded slowly. “Yes Q, your real name.”

“So this…” Q began, now not looking at James as he wrapped his bathrobe tightly around his body. He looked down at his feet and folded his arms across his chest as he continued quietly, “You know my address. Surely you learned my name from that.”

Bond raised his eyebrow, showing more curiosity than impatience. He reached for Q’s face and tilted his chin up. “John Smith, really?”

Q shrugged, smiling faintly, “I’m terrible liar, aren’t I?”

“The worst,” Bond agreed, as he let the younger man free. “If you’re not ready to tell me, then say so. Just, please, don’t lie to me. It’s entirely up to you,” he added gently, still holding Q’s gaze.

When Q didn’t respond for several minutes, Bond just simply turned to the stove to finish breakfast. He was quiet, but Q could feel that James was far from calm. Now, Bond’s back was tense, his muscles taut with every move as he cracked eggs into the pan.

Really, after all those days he spent dreaming about a view like the one he woke up to this morning, he couldn’t even tell the man with whom he spent the night with his real name? He was absolutely pathetic, he thought.

But James wasn’t just someone with whom he shared a bed. It was someone who, after an absolutely mind-blowing night like the one they shared, was still here. And even after getting out of bed quietly enough to escape unnoticed, he stayed to wake Q up with the best shower sex Q had ever had. And all James wanted was his name. Even if he was ashamed of it, it was still just a name.

“So you are serious about this,” he said as pushed off of the edge of the table and walked to James.

“Of course I am,” Bond said with barely concealed hurt. He stopped cooking and turned back to look at Q. “I just made you a bloody promise. I trust you with my life every day and-”

“It’s Adrian. Adrian Namier,” Q whispered so softly that it was almost as quiet as the wind moving inside the flat.

“The son of famous Jewish scientists,” James said slowly. He turned back to the stove and let Q wrap his arms around his waist. James continued, as a small smile slowly came back to Q’s face. “Born in Essex on 13th of April, 1986, went to Brown, finished at the head of the class at the age of fourteen, genius-level IQ, the youngest person ever hired at MI6, and apparently still ashamed of his origin,” James pointed out, intertwining his fingers with Q’s as he added with a meaningful whisper, “Don’t worry, I’m from Scotland.”

Q was quiet for a moment.

“I knew that you knew it,” he finally said. He smiled and placed a kiss on James’ jaw.

“I wanted to hear it from you,” James replied softly, “but now, we are going to eat this bloody breakfast…”

“And then we’re going back to bed,” Q added, grinning when his lips met James’ chastely, before he moved out of the way to watch his lover finish making, what he hoped would be, the first breakfast of many.


End file.
